


Words Hurt

by thehotinpsychotic



Category: My Chemical Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 00:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3630033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehotinpsychotic/pseuds/thehotinpsychotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gerard visits Frank and the Cellabration on tour, he overhears Frank's teasing comment about Gerard. Gerard ends up taking it to heart, and by the end of the night, he has to admit to Frank what's bothering him, and he's more than happy to come up with a method of repayment. </p><p>Link to original prompt: http://waydown.co.vu/post/113205866245/hi-i-love-how-you-write-i-was-wondering-if-you</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Hurt

            It was a Thursday afternoon that Frank received Gerard’s text message.

            Texting used to be a regular thing between the two; it was almost daily that they’d catch up and chat, even though in those times they were within ten feet of each other at any given moment.

            Those were the tour bus days, the nights of little sleep and the afternoons of fast food and sound checks. They spent more time on the band than they did anything else; recreation wasn’t much of an option.

            But in those few months after the band split, that was when they had an unmitigated amount of time on their hands. And somehow, with all of that free time and the distance that was put between them; the few months after the breakup was when they texted each other least. In fact, they didn’t text at all. Hell, it wasn’t until four or five months after the breakup that they even acknowledged each other via social media. Still, they didn’t text. The occasional nods through Twitter, broadcasted for the world to see with a click of a mouse, couldn’t compare to the private conversations they’d have through text. Surely, the two were utterly different, complete different means of communication which reaped their own unique benefits and faults.

            This was the first time Gerard had texted Frank in a long time. In fact, Frank doubted if Gerard had kept his phone number. He figured that’s why he only talked to him through Twitter; he’d deleted Frank’s contact from his phone in a fit of anger and spite, leaving public social media the only platform to reach out to him.

            But either Gerard found his number again or he’d never deleted it in the first place, because he was the one to text Frank.

            “Frank,” the text read. “I have a couple weeks off of my tour in October, which is when you’ll be in Colorado. I’ll be just finishing up in Minnesota at that point. Maybe we could meet up. I’d love to see you guys play.”

            Frank took a long time to piece together his response. Finally, he replied, “Sure. I’ll text you later with more details.”

            And that was that. They arranged a flight for Gerard, and the next thing Frank knew, there he was, back in his life.

            Gerard had literally ran to hug Frank at the airport, totally blowing off his suitcases, which were sitting in the terminal and circled multiple times before they were finally picked up.

            Frank rode with Gerard back to the Cellabration’s hotel, where Gerard got to meet the guys for the first time, with the exception of Evan. Gerard already knew Evan; he’d met him at Frank and Jamia’s wedding. The rest of them were totally foreign though, and Gerard couldn’t help but be cautious about these guys who Frank’s been running around with. Gerard wondered if they treat Frank better than Gerard ever did; if Frank liked them more than he ever liked Gerard.

            So Gerard was hesitant about the grounds of his and Frank’s relationship to begin with, and even more insecure about the other members of the band. That very first night that Gerard’s there, his beliefs are only proved, in his eyes.

            Gerard was sitting backstage, waiting for Frank’s band to go on. They were only halfway through the Modern Chemistry set, so Gerard reckoned he had time to go to the bathroom real fast.

            On his way back there, he just so happened to pass by the Cellabration dressing room. Someone had left the door open just barely, and through the slightly ajar door, Gerard heard the phrase, “Fucking loser.”

            Gerard hugged the wall next to the door, straining to hear better. He picks up Frank’s voice, telling the rest of his band, “Gerard is probably the geekiest guy I’ve ever met. Like seriously, this is the man that had a Star Wars blanket on his bed until he was twenty four.”

            Gerard blushed furiously as he listened to the other members laugh, and he kicked the door shut, no longer worried about being detected. Hell, if he didn’t have to pee so badly, he probably would’ve walked right in there and told Frank off at that moment.

            Frank sighed as soon as he heard the door slam, knowing it had been Gerard.

            “What was that?” Evan asked, playing with a drawstring of his hoodie.

            Frank shook his head, assuring, “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”

            Gerard pushed to the bathroom, which was thankfully a backstage one, meaning no one is in there. This allowed for no one to hear him cry.

            He only cried for a few minutes. He could hear the Homeless Gospel Choir set start, and that’s when he stood, splashing his face with cool water and patting it dry. He stared himself down in the mirror, giving some deep breaths before heading out.

            He sat down in the same room as Frank and his new friends, and the sad part was that he really couldn’t do anything except pretend that he hadn’t heard. Either Frank really hadn’t realized the door slammed, or he didn’t care, and the latter was a lot more upsetting than most things in Gerard’s life.

            They kept trying to engage him in conversation, and Gerard didn’t mean to, but he was still hurt, and that was obvious in his curt replies and blank expression. He was trying to act as though everything was fine, but it was heavily apparent in his manner that things were far from okay.

            When it was finally time for Frank’s band to go on, Gerard sat backstage, his arms crossed firmly over his chest. Derek, the sole member of the Homeless Gospel Choir, came over and started to chat with Gerard.

            “Hiya,” Derek greeted, pulling up a chair next to Gerard.

            “Hi,” Gerard muttered. “Nice set.”

            “Thanks,” Derek replied. He gazed out for a while at the stage, and then asked, “Say kid, Frank didn’t uh… upset you, did he?”

            Gerard raised an eyebrow. “How did _you_ know?”

            Derek shrugged, admitting, “I mean, I was in the room with Frank. Saw you out here with him and the guys and honestly, you didn’t look happy.”

            Gerard bit his lip, shrugging his own shoulders slowly. “I don’t… I don’t know. I guess you could say that, yeah.”

            “Look, Frank’s just a bit rough around the edges sometimes,” Derek assured. He patted Gerard’s knee, promising, “I’m positive he didn’t mean it like that.”

            Gerard tensed, hissing, “I know Frank. He’s my best friend.”

            “Then maybe you should talk to him about it,” Derek suggested quietly.

            Gerard sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew he’d been somewhat of a dick to Derek; the guy was just trying to help. But Gerard wasn’t really in the mood for sympathy; he was a pissed off adult, not a charity case.

            Gerard returned after the show to Frank’s motel room with the band. The guys all crammed into a room with two beds. Evan and Matt went right to sleep, sharing one of the mattresses. Meanwhile, Rob camped out on the floor as usual; he was too tall for anyone to want to share covers with.

            So that left Frank and Gerard. Frank was the first to crawl into bed, dressed in a Mickey Mouse crewneck and some flannel pajama bottoms. Gerard sat at the foot of the bed, a resting pout painted onto his face.

            Frank curled up in bed, picking at his fingernails as he asked, “Is something bothering you, Gerard?”

            “I heard you, you know,” Gerard mumbled.

            Frank’s brows furrowed, and his eyes flicked up to look at Gerard. “What are you talking about?”

            Gerard growled, “I might be some geeky loser, but I’m not a fucking idiot.”

            Frank strained to understand, then rolling his eyes when the memory came to surface. “Gerard, are you really upset about that?”      

            “Yes, I’m upset!” Gerard snapped.

            Frank shushed Gerard, motioning over to the now sleeping band members. He whispered, “I was kidding, Gerard.”

            “Yeah, behind my back,” Gerard accused.

            Frank sighed, stringing his fingers into his hair. “I said it, and I’m sorry, Gerard. I didn’t mean for it to upset you.”

            “Well it fucking did,” Gerard grumbled.

            “I don’t know what you want me to do,” Frank muttered.

            Gerard thought for a bit, understanding that perhaps he was being unreasonable. Finally, he decided, “Frank, your hasty comments have led to me to suffer from unbearable somatic troubles.”

            Frank raised a brow, grinning by that point. “Oh?”

            “Yes,” Gerard continued, nodding vigorously. “Particularly back pain. Now, if you give me a back rub, I think my condition will improve dramatically.”

            Frank felt some heat rise to his cheeks, asking, “Y-you want me to give you a backrub?”

            Gerard lay on the bed, pulling his shirt over his head. He propped his chin up under his forearms, instructing, “Get to it.”

            Frank hesitantly inched towards him, slowly swinging one leg over his torso. Straddling the taller man, Frank pressed the heel of his hand into Gerard’s shoulder blade and began to rub.

            Gerard shut his eyes as Frank proceeded. Gerard was a clear cut guide; if Frank’s pressure became inconsistent, his techniques repetitive, or if his pace wavered, Gerard would surely correct him.

            Gerard finally let Frank go after what felt like a century of rubbing his damn back. Frank’s hands and fingers were slightly cramped, to be honest. He lay back in bed, letting out a long sigh.

            Gerard put his shirt back on, then curling up into bed next to Frank. He pressed his head into Frank’s chest, falling asleep soon to the sound of his steady heartbeat.


End file.
